


Coitus ex machina

by Cinaed



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prison, Robot Sex, Season/Series 03, Skin Hunger, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: “Look, man,” Grif said. He’d taken his helmet off and slumped against the opposite wall of the cell, so Church could see his sweaty face and narrowed eyes. “I’ve seenShawshank Redemption.I know what’s up. And I’m telling you right now, I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”Church and Grif get bored in prison.





	Coitus ex machina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConfessionForAnotherTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConfessionForAnotherTime/gifts).



> Written for Rare Pairs Week! Thanks for the suggestion, ConfessionForAnotherTime! 
> 
> There are mentions of Tex/Church and Church/other men, but this is focused on a Church/Grif hook-up.
> 
> Thanks go out to the brilliant nonny on FFA who came up with the title for me.

“Look, man,” Grif said. He’d taken his helmet off and slumped against the opposite wall of the cell, so Church could see his sweaty face and narrowed eyes. “I’ve seen _Shawshank Redemption._ I know what’s up. And I’m telling you right now, I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

Church regretted everything that had brought him to this particular moment in time. What bad decisions had he made to get himself stuck in a cell with a goddamn lunatic? He banged his head against the wall in frustration. When even the faint clanging of metal failed to distract him, he finally groaned. “Oh my god. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”

“I wasn’t meant for life in the cage,” Grif continued, ignoring him. “The guys will find us and I’ll be all 5150 and shit.” He stood up and stalked over to the bars, striking an armored fist against it and yelling, “Hey, pigs, just put me in the hole now, I’m gonna go crazy!”

Church rolled his eyes. Or at least mentally rolled his eyes. It was still weird even after all this time, being stuck in a robot body. “Grif, sit the fuck down and smoke a cigarette or something.”

“I can’t,” Grif said. When he turned to look at Church, Church was startled at the genuine agony on the man’s face. “I don’t know how long I need this pack to last! What if these dickweasels consider cigarettes contraband?” More horror widened his eyes. “What if this is some sort of teetotaling prison?”

Church snorted. “Relax. They won’t take your cigarettes.”

“You don’t know shit about prison. Why should I listen to you?” Grif said, but stomped over, slumping down beside Church and pulling out a cigarette. After a second, he took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Smoke trickled from the corner of his mouth as he muttered, “Hey, that’s one good thing about getting stuck with you.”

“Oh?” Church asked, curious despite himself.

“Yeah, ghosts can’t smoke. Or are you a robot now? Eh, whatever. Either way, more cigarettes for me.”

Honestly, Church didn’t know what he’d expected. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special. First you won’t put out, now you won’t even share your cigarettes.” He bet he could smoke too. He had air filters or something, didn’t he?

Grif shrugged. “Hey, it’s nothing personal. My sister and I promised each other that if we were ever in the slammer, we wouldn’t be anyone’s bitch. So keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up the subject, not me.” Church was struck by a thought. If he could’ve grinned, he would’ve. He nudged Grif with his shoulder and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Grif, do you... _want_ to be my bitch? It’s okay. What you admit in prison, stays in prison.”

Grif flinched away from Church, coughing out smoke. Wheezing, he gasped, “What the hell, Church? I don’t want-- I wasn’t asking you-- Ugh!” His entire face scrunched up, a fresh sheen of sweat on his brow. The paler skin of his emergency graft darkened. “If anyone’s the prison bitch, it’s you,” he added weakly.   

“Huh,” Church said, startled. He studied Grif’s averted face and the way Grif alternated between fidgeting with his cigarette and taking quick, agitated puffs from it. It wasn’t an attractive look, but still Church felt the first stirrings of interest. “I was kidding, but, uh, okay.”

Grif turned to glare. “Okay?” he said, incredulous. “ _Okay?_ I swear to God, Church, if you tell anyone about this dumbass conversation, I will find a priest and goddamn exorcise you. How’s that for what I admit in prison, stays in prison?” His voice rose.

“Relax,” Church said. He held up placating hands. “It’s not _that_ embarrassing. Everyone has a thing for Arnold Schwarzenegger in the first Terminator movie. Though now I’m curious. Do you have a thing for robots or ghosts?” He paused. “Man, I hope it’s for ghosts, otherwise I have some questions about you and Lopez.”

“Seriously. Exorcism. I will fucking do it,” Grif threatened. Then he paused. His brow creased, this time with genuine revulsion.“Also, Lopez? _Gross_.”

“So, do you get turned on by ghosts or robots? Or both?”  

Grif eyed Church. Now he looked confused. He said slowly, “What the fuck is this, Ask Grif Weird Sex Questions Hour? At least when Donut asks scarring questions, he gives us wine and cheese.”

“I’m asking for science,” Church said, just in case he’d misread the situation and Grif wasn’t just protesting too much. Hey, the science excuse worked for piggyback rides from Tucker every time.

Grif snorted. “For science? Jesus. Even when I’m not around Simmons, I find the next goddamn nerdiest guy.” He took another drag of his cigarette.  

“Well?” Church said. He leaned closer before he could think better of it.

He froze as Grif pointed his cigarette at him. An incredulous grin spread across Grif’s face. “Wait just a goddamn minute. You’re _into this_. Is this your long-winded way of saying you’re actually want to be my bitch?"He snickered. “Nerds. Can’t just ask to fuck.”  

Church wanted to glare. “Hey, I didn’t notice you being all honest about your robot fetish a minute ago. No, it was all ‘I’m not into that’ like a goddamn liar.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Grif finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on his armored leg before he flicked the butt into the far corner of the cell. “So, how are we doing this?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the technosexual.”

Grif didn’t look offended. He hummed thoughtfully, a sound that went through Church as a ghostly memory of arousal. Fuck, it had been way too long since he’d gotten laid. “Right. Give me a sec.” Grif then proceeded to strip out of his armor faster than Church had ever seen him move after months of observing the Reds through his sniper rifle. In what felt like mere seconds, Grif was down to a tank top and boxers.

Somehow despite his lack of a face, Church must have radiated his astonishment, because Grif looked at him and laughed. “The one useful thing I learned in Basic. Not that I get to use it that often, because I sleep in my armor most nights, thanks, Sarge, but it’s still handy.”

“Huh,” Church said. He flexed his hands carefully, calculating their strength, and then eyed the erection starting to tent Grif’s boxers. “So, I know you’re probably desperate for my robo-dick, but I’m pretty sure Tucker didn’t barter with Sarge for one. Is that a deal breaker?”

Grif made a face. “Dude, if we’re gonna fuck, we need to not mention Sarge again. Also, it’s Tucker. Are you sure he didn’t demand a dick?”

Church had to admit that was a fair point. “You could check,” he suggested, and was irritated to discover that even a robot’s voice could crack.

Grif’s expression turned calculating. He gave Church a long once-over that sent another prickle of memory of arousal through Church. “Maybe later. Right now I think you should jerk me off.”

Church’s robotic brain short-circuited as Grif stood over him, half-straddling his outstretched legs and balancing himself with his hands on Church’s shoulders. This close, Church could’ve pressed his face against the front of Grif’s boxers, mouthed at his dick through the fabric. He stroked his unfeeling fingers along the bulge instead and was rewarded by a hitch in Grif’s breathing.

He hooked his fingers under the band of Grif’s boxers and tugged them down.

“Come on,” Grif said through gritted teeth when Church just looked. His erection was thick and already wet; it would’ve been heavy in Church’s mouth, the type that always left his throat sore and the ones he’d liked the best when he’d gotten drunk and fooled around in college. “Or do you want to give the guards a show?”    

It was an exercise in frustration, to be able to touch and not feel. Still Church wrapped his hand around Grif’s cock and stroked him slowly. He watched the pulse jump in Grif’s neck and wanted to kiss it. “Good?” he asked, and would’ve bit his tongue if he’d had one. He’d forgotten what a needy bitch he turned into during sex. Tex had always teased him. 

At least Grif didn’t seem to notice, too busy thrusting against Church’s hand. “Yeah, it’s good, just uh, a little harder. Don’t--” His breath caught as Church stroked him again. “Don’t snap my dick off, just uh-- fuck.” He whined a little, low in his throat, as Church rubbed a thumb over the tip of his cock, seeing rather than feeling the wetness.

Church forgot himself. When he touched Grif’s cheek, the other man’s eyes opened in surprise. Then Grif grinned. “Good idea,” he said. The warm approval in his voice made Church sit up straighter as Grif took half of Church’s fingers in his mouth and sucked hungrily at them.

Church didn’t wait for instructions or encouragement this time, using his now-slick fingers to finger Grif. He was rewarded by a breathless string of profanity and Grif’s dick twitching in his hand. A few more strokes, another press of his fingers, and Grif came with a groan, all over Church’s visor and armored chest.

By the time Church had wiped most of it off, Grif was back in his armor and sprawled next to him, legs akimbo. There was an abandoned scrap of red fabric on the ground between them that he’d apparently used to clean himself up. Grif sighed, his head resting against the wall. “Thanks, man. I thought my dick was going to fall off from disuse for a while there.”

There was a drowsy note to his voice. Church squinted at him. “Are you going to _sleep_?” he asked in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah. It’s called a post-sex nap,” Grif said around a yawn. When Church squawked, Grif flapped a hand at him. “Why are you bitching? You said it yourself, you don’t have a robo-dick for me to suck.”

“ _Grif_ ,” Church growled, but the asshole apparently had an on-off switch, because Grif’s head dipped to rest against his chest and stayed there. When he shook Grif’s shoulder, a quiet snore escaped Grif’s helmet. “Goddamn it, Grif!”

This wasn’t happening. Church wasn’t going to get the robot-equivalent of blue-balled by _Grif_ of all fucking people.

He concentrated. Between one second and the next he was inside Grif’s head, which...wasn’t really what he’d expected. He’d thought it would be messy and cluttered and vaguely disgusting, like the man himself. Instead it was pretty sparse, just an empty room inside Grif’s memory of Red Base, with a few crates lying around.

“Huh,” he said. “Grif! Hey, Grif! Get your fat ass out here!”

“Hey,” Grif said. When Church turned, Grif was in the doorway. At least he looked how Church had imagined him: a faded shirt that stretched tight over his stomach, comfortable-looking sweatpants, and bare feet, probably ready to take a nap within a nap. Their eyes met, and Grif grinned. “First sex with a robot, and now I get a sex dream with hot human Church? Maybe life in the slammer isn’t so bad.”

“This isn’t a dream, dumbass,” Church snapped. Then the rest of Grif’s words registered. Church blinked and looked down at himself. He stared, dumbfounded, at his human hands. When he clenched his fists, he could feel his nails dig into his palms. He took a breath, and felt the pressure in his chest as his lungs expanded against his rib-cage. It wasn’t real, of course. He didn’t have a physical body. There were no neurons firing up some dopamine and serotonin fun times, no limbic system getting excited, nothing. But this still felt more real than anything else had since Caboose had killed him. He licked his lips; desire surged through him at just that light pressure. A little breathless, he said, “You mentioned sucking dick, didn’t you?”

“Hell yeah,” Grif said, his grin widening. “Take off your pants.”

Church had barely gotten his boxers off, overwhelmed just by the sensation of fabric beneath his fingers and the throbbing arousal between his legs, before Grif crowded him against the nearest crate. Church choked back a groan as Grif dropped down to kneel between his legs.

Grif’s breath was hot against Church’s thigh, his hands warm as they nudged Church’s legs wider. “So,” Grif said conversationally, eyeing Church’s dick, “is that true to size, or are you trying to impress?”

It took Church’s lust-fogged brain to understand the question. Then he flushed and scowled, some of his arousal tempered by irritation. “What, you think I’m going to give myself a huge dick to impress _you_?”

Grif shrugged. “Just asking.” Before Church could snap at him, Grif leaned forward and took half of Church’s dick into his mouth. It was an easy, practiced motion, like Grif had done this a lot before they’d both gotten trapped in Blood Gulch.

That thought shouldn’t have been hot. It was _Grif_. Still Church bit his lip. It was hard not to come immediately, when Grif’s mouth was warm and wet, tongue curling around his dick like he was sucking on a goddamn lollipop. He thrust into Grif’s mouth, a helpless movement of his hips. The slight press of teeth and rougher swipe of his tongue was probably meant as a warning, but the gesture made Church groan and arch again.

Grif paused, his mouth slack, and then Church felt his grin widen, his teeth sharp but light.  

Church was suddenly ravenous for every last sensation he could feel. “Grif,” he said thickly, just to feel the working of his own jaw. He stroked his hand roughly over Grif’s hair and savored the burning of his straining thighs as he braced himself against the crate. He sucked on his fingers until his jaw ached and then pinched at his nipples through his shirt.

All the while Grif worked him over, alternating between light scrapes of his teeth and rough licks, barely seeming to breathe as he sucked on Church’s dick.

Church’s senses overloaded. He clutched at Grif’s hair and came. He almost came again when Grif didn’t pull off and swallowed. He slumped against the crate, clinging even to the feeling of discomfort as the edge of the crate dug into his back. He ran a hand over his face, and blinked hard at the sudden stinging in his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. He wasn’t about to cry over a great blowjob.

“Fuck,” he said when he’d recovered his voice. The question came out unthinking. “Are you that good in real life?”

Grif smiled smugly.  

Church bent down and kissed him before he could open his stupid mouth and kill the mood completely. He could taste himself on Grif’s lips. He slid his hands back into Grif’s hair and held him still, kissing him hotly, chasing the taste and the feel. It’d been so long since he’d kissed anyone, even Tex.

When he drew back, Grif’s eyes were half-lidded.

“We should--” Church said, then stopped. He’d been unaware of his subconscious keeping track of the time that had passed since Grif had hammered on the bars and now, but now his mind nudged at him, reminding him that a guard would be coming by to check on them in about five minutes. He swallowed against bitter frustration. He stroked Grif’s hair one last time and muttered, “Fuck. A guard’s coming.”

Grif blinked at him, then shrugged. “So? We probably both look like we’re sleeping. Not a big deal.”

Church snorted. “Yeah, or you’ve got your dick out, about to give the guard a really weird show.”

Grif looked unconcerned. “It’s a prison, man. I’m sure they’re used to it.”

“Right,” Church said dryly. He wanted to linger. The idea of reciprocating and sucking Grif off like he’d imagined in his robot body sent a faint echoing pulse of arousal through him. He reluctantly withdrew from Grif’s mind. The sudden lack of sensation would have been painful, if he could have felt it. As he straightened up, he saw that Grif was still slumped against the wall.

Grif lifted his head slowly as the guard’s footfalls echoed down the corridor. When he spoke though, it was a shout. Church jumped as Grif hollered, “Hey, prisoners are people too! Get us some goddamn food, pig! And some soda!”

“And some _water_ ,” Church corrected. Grif’s helmet was eloquent in its disgust. Church almost laughed. “Seriously, man, how is all of Red Team not dead? You need water to live.”

“Nah, you just need liquid. We’ve been surviving on whisky and strawberry Yoohoos and all of Donut’s black market wine.”  

The guard stared at them, silent like all the other guards before him, and then walked away.

“Yeah, keep walking!” Grif shouted after him. Then he lowered his voice. “Keep walking because holy shit, Church, you fucker, I am so hard right now. Do you know how much boners suck in this stupid armor? I can’t believe you used your stupid ghost powers to hop into my dream and blue-ball me.”

Church hoped that his helmet was equally eloquent in broadcasting his lack of sympathy. “Hey, you’re the one who blue-balled me first. You took a _nap_.”

Grif waved a dismissive hand. “You can’t blue-ball someone who doesn’t have balls. Besides, if I hadn't taken that nap, you wouldn't have done your weird ghost thing. Really, you should be thanking me.”

“Not happening,” Church said.

Grif laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, does this count as robot _and_ ghost sex?” Before Church could answer, Grif leaned a little closer. “So how long do we have until the next guard comes by?”

“Uh, about twenty minutes, if they stick to their schedule.”

“Nice,” Grif said with a slow nod. “So you can either jerk me off again or do your ghost thing and we can do some more shit in my brain. I'm a generous guy. You can choose.”

“Uh,” Church said again. He wanted to lick his non-existent lips. He wondered if Grif's dick would look different in his mind, or exactly the same. The memory of hunger and lust sparked through his circuits. He tried to keep his voice even, already preparing himself for the jump from one body to another. “Yeah, I think we should...experiment some more. In your head. For science.”

“For science,” Grif agreed, a grin in his voice.     


End file.
